It’s been two years and four months since I first stepped foot in here. I look around and all I see are memories.

The walls used to be white. We spent a whole weekend painting them “By the Sea” blue to help give the house a more coastal feel. I hated painting, but I loved getting to talk to him for hours without interruption. It looks smaller in here now, but it feels warmer.

I’ve had the couches since I moved out of my parents’ house. They’re worn out, but they make do. One has become my second bed. I sleep on it when I’m sick. I do my work on it. It’s where I go to cry at night. I eat on it because we don’t use the table. And on occasion, it becomes our place to fall into when we love each other so much we can’t make it to the bedroom.

The rest of the furniture is new, though. We got rid of my old things and replaced them with our things.

He says I’m an “end table person.” The end table I use is covered with things I use often. There’s medicine, a candle, chapstick, and even salt. I never move them because I know I’ll need them.

My plants scattered around are sometimes the only things that keep me going. They remind me that growth is always possible and that I can come back from anything.

The lights are still twisted around the lamp from Christmas. We never turn them on, but we’ll probably never take them down.

Our books, notebooks, and planners are under the coffee table now. We keep saying we’ll get them out, but that rarely happens. We just keep it organized so no one else knows.

We spent our first anniversary in here because I was too sick to go out. I was so afraid of disappointing him, but he was happy to watch TV with me all day. It was worth it.

We’ve been in here through all the ups and downs together. We’ve made both big and small decisions in here. We plan our lives in here. This is my favorite place on Earth.

She hadn't been able to sleep well in years. She stared at the ceiling, rolled over, stared at the wall, then rolled over and pressed her head into her pillow. She couldn't figure out why she couldn't fall asleep without taking her pills. She also couldn't understand the thoughts she had when she wanted to stop thinking.

Why didn't Lexie like me in third grade?

When did I last clean the cabinets?

Fries would be good right now.

Maybe I should just count sheep.

The dust on the cabinets has to be crazy.

Counting sheep keeps me awake.

Do sheep count people to help them sleep?

That's ridiculous. Sheep can't count.

Her doctor had suggested reading, but she liked it too much. She often thought about ideas for new books, but she knew they were no good. They were based on her thoughts at night so they wouldn't make sense.

But what if there was a book about sheep counting people? It would make a great children's book if nothing else.

Right?

Totally.

Those sheep won't know what hit them. They'll be so smart.

She finally drifted to sleep and dreamed of sheep counting people to try and fall asleep.

You never really wanted me. You were just lonely. You just wanted someone to hold onto at night. If you got a little more out of it, that was just a bonus. You used me. And the worst part is, I let it happen. I watched as you put distance between us when people came near. I noticed every glance you made to see if anyone saw us together. I heard every excuse you made to keep me hidden from people who knew you.

Now I can't figure out how I let you do that to me. I was always so strong, but you took that from me. I thought I'd never get that back. I thought you had taken my voice forever. I thought no one else would want me since you didn't. And why would they? Obviously I wasn't pretty enough or funny enough or even popular enough for you. How could I have been good enough for anyone else either?

When you left, I knew I had to be alone. You were my last chance at love. I couldn't let another man waste his time on a girl who wasn't good enough for this world.

Silly me. I couldn't see the truth. I wasn't the problem, you were. He shows me that every single day. It takes a worthless person to make others feel worthless. But for a person to show someone else their true worth? That takes a person that I know I deserve.

One of my favorite things is watching him laugh. His little mind doesn't know of all the big, unfortunate happenings in this world. He only knows what makes him happy now, what makes him laugh. He covers his little mouth with his little hands and throws his head back so that his little body falls to the floor. His little eyes scrunch so that are almost closed completely. He rolls over on his stomach and beats his little fists on the floor and kicks his little feet, unable to contain himself anymore. He lets out quick, little snorts without feeling embarassed by it like people bigger than him. It always amazes me how this giant fit of laughter comes from such a little boy. It reminds me that, as cliche as it sounds, the little things matter most.

Haley and Jack were never meant to be. They wished every day that that wasn't true, that somehow they could get through all the fights and chaos that seemed to define their relationship. But no matter what they did, they couldn't fight the truth.

They met when they were seven years old. Haley pushed Jack off the monkey bars for saying she was weak. She refused to let that word define her. As they got older, it seemed that their differences drew them closer together. Perhaps it was just because they were both stubborn and wanted to beat the odds, or perhaps it's true that opposites attract.

Once the attraction started, there was no going back, even on the bad days. One day they'd be so obviously in love. They could barely keep their hands off each other; they couldn't get enough. Then the next day they'd spend the whole day screaming at each other. They knew they had taken it too far when, one night, Haley threatened to set the house on fire if Jack didn't leave. Without hesitation, he refused. He would rather die than give up. Something clicked in both of their minds then. They knew their love was too toxic to keep it going. They both had to leave.

They tried to reason with each other. They could stay together and get counseling, or just learn to give each other some space. But for once, Haley decided she needed to be the voice of reason. She needed to be strong.

"You'd want to keep me," she said. "I'd want to be kept. What a disaster that would be."

"I can change," he told her. "I can be better."

"You will be," she assured him, before leaving forever.

Hi, I'm Kristin. I've actually already posted a few things on here, but I just found out there was an introductions page. I've always loved writing, and I've always been told I should be an English major in college and become a writer. So now I'm an English major and writing just a bunch of essays (yay college). Now that the semester is over I really want to start writing more. My concentration is in creative writing, so I'm always open to helpful critiques and feedback. Part of me hates sharing my writing because I think it's bad but I'm trying to get out of that mindset. After all, how am I supposed to grow as a writer if no one ever reads what I write? So far I've loved reading everyone's stuff and I can't wait to read and share more!

I sat on the side of the tub and turned the water on. Suddenly, I was in a jungle in this magic tub. I felt the ground shake as a huge dinosaur came towards me. I froze. Morgan Freeman came out waving a foam finger and told the dinosaur to go away. Strangely enough, it listened. His soothing voice always calmed me down too.

They’re saying this is the apocalypse. The actual zombie apocalypse. Everyone always wanted this, but I don’t think anyone actually thought it would happen. There was talk of some crazy virus that had been going around for a few days now. No one was able to find a cure. Now people are dying at an alarming rate. Not only that, people are being killed. By the dead. This makes no sense.

People are running around like maniacs trying to get what supplies they can while they’re still able. They’re stealing and hurting others to get what they want. It’s like one giant mad house. I refuse to leave my house. At least for now. It has to calm down eventually, right? My mom left two days ago for a work trip and we haven’t heard from her. My dad and sister left this morning to see what they could find before things got worse. They told me to stay here so no one would try to come in the house. That plan doesn’t make much sense since there’s really nothing I can do to fight off intruders. Or the dead. They left eleven hours ago. I wish they’d hurry back.

Earlier I made the mistake of looking outside. An older woman, probably in her sixties, was running from three walkers. She must have been running for too long already because she was getting slower and slower as she ran down the road. I watched them grab her and pull her down. I can’t get the image of them eating her alive out of my head. She was screaming louder than I’ve ever heard anyone scream as they feasted on her still living body. I wanted to do something, but I froze. I couldn’t move as I watched more zombies approach. Her screams weren’t helping her any since they were just attracting more. There were a couple guys nearby who came to help. They shot at the zombies until they ran out of bullets, but it was no use. They just kept coming. They guys who were just trying to do the right thing and help this woman ended up dying because of her. Yet here I am still. Alive. A coward, yes, but still alive.

It's funny how before this actually happened, everyone always acted as if they would last through the whole apocalypse. They would be strong and be willing to kill anything or anyone in their way. They just knew they would become leaders of their own little groups and save the world. Well, guess what. They’re dead. And those who aren’t yet will be soon. At least half the world is probably dead by now, and it’s only day one.

She shivers on the bed

But he couldn’t care less.

No point in putting on more clothes

When they’re coming right off.

No crawling under warm blankets

When he paid to see her, all of her,

A fourteen-year-old girl.

The sixth man today,

Each one stealing a piece of her.

He smells like the rest of them,

Like sweat and stale cigars.

The odor now lingered in the room,

Even when they were gone.

She stares at the ceiling

While he has his way with her.

Counts the water-stained tiles,

The cracks in the walls,

The holes in the blanket.

She’s watched this room fall apart over time

But it’s the only one she’ll use,

The only choice she’s allowed to make.

She wanted high school, prom, football games,

A real job to make money of her own.

But she makes money for her new daddy

With a body that’s no longer her own.